


Follow Through

by originally



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bossy Cadash, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally
Summary: Cadash and Dorian like to tease Blackwall, and Blackwall likes to pretend he's not flattered. One drunken night they take it further than usual.[Crossposting an oldkink memefill]





	Follow Through

“You know, Blackwall,” Dorian said, spinning to neatly freeze a hurlock that was raising its sword behind him, “that diagram I offered to draw you is still on the cards, if you want it.” He used his staff to aim a sharp shard of ice through its heart, shattering the unfortunate darkspawn into tiny pieces.

“In case you haven't noticed,” Blackwall grunted from somewhere behind him, “I'm a bit busy right now, Dorian.”

“Nonsense! It's perfectly possible to maintain a conversation whilst engaging in moderate exercise.”

“Moderate—Maker’s breath, there's something wrong with you.”

“I can't help but note you're avoiding the subject,” Dorian called, spinning back in time to grin at Edric as he looked up from the corpse in front of him.

Edric tipped Dorian a wink, and stepped back into the shadows. “What diagram was this, then?” he said, appearing behind a casting genlock and kicking it in the back of the knees so that it went down with a startled yelp. He stabbed it in the neck. “Oh, I think that was the last of them.”

To Dorian's immense satisfaction, Blackwall seemed rather flustered as they regrouped. “It was… nothing, Inquisitor,” he said, not quite meeting Edric’s eye.

“If it was some kind of battle plan, I should like to see it.” Edric’s impish expression told Dorian that he knew exactly what they were discussing.

“Oh, in a manner of speaking, yes,” Dorian agreed. “It certainly involved, ah, swordplay. And I believe you might even say… conquest.”

“Ah, I see,” Edric said, eyes sparking with mirth. “So it was more of a map for scouting and exploration? Taking virgin territories? Penetrating deep into the heart of darkness, as it were?”

“Andraste’s ass, this is even worse than the stuff I wrote in _Swords and Shields_ ,” Varric broke in.

“Not Andraste’s, no,” Dorian said tartly, savouring both Edric’s bark of laughter and the touch of pink that was visible over Blackwall’s beard.

-

“I couldn't help noticing, last time we were in Val Royeaux,” Dorian began as they were trekking up a hill, and almost laughed as he heard Blackwall stifle a groan, “that they had some old wanted notices up on the chantry board. With sketches! Rather informative they were, too.”

“Dorian,” Blackwall growled.

“For example,” Dorian continued, making sure that he was walking a few steps out of Blackwall’s reach, “did you have any idea, Inquisitor, that this fellow Thom Rainier was such a handsome rogue?”

Blackwall made a strange sort of choking sound.

“I hadn't heard that, no,” Edric said, amused.

“Truly!” Dorian exclaimed. “A strong, clean-shaven jawline, very masculine. A striking nose. And those eyes! I'm sure that's one hardened criminal I wouldn't mind meeting down a dark—hey!” An arrow had whizzed by, ruffling his hair.

“Leave it, yeah?” said Sera, brandishing her bow at him as if it were a sword.

Dorian grimaced. He would rather not be on an insane, mage-hating elf’s bad side. Especially when that bad side involved pointed projectiles. But teasing Blackwall had become quite an enjoyable pastime.

To his great surprise, though, Blackwall muttered, “It's fine, Sera.”

Well. Wasn't that interesting? Dorian hummed pensively. “My dear Inquisitor, a thought occurs.”

“Maker forbid you should have one and not inform us, Dorian. Do tell.”

“You yourself were in the Carta, were you not?”

Edric looked at him sidelong. “I was. What of it?”

“I was just thinking… handsome rogues, you know.” Dorian waved his hand carelessly, as if that encompassed all there was to say about the subject.

“So… what you're suggesting here is that you have a taste for law breakers?” said Edric, and grinned slyly at Blackwall, who groaned again and stomped off over the crest of the hill.

Only the intervention of a group of Venatori prevented Dorian from broaching the topic of roleplay.

-

“Dorian, I’ve been wondering something,” said Iron Bull, as they tramped through another horrible cave.

“No, I’m not going to sleep with you,” Dorian said immediately, shivering. He had thought he’d already navigated this particular stretch of dangerous waters. “I’m spoken for.”

“It’s not that.”

Something squelched where he put his foot down and Dorian wrinkled his nose. His boots were going to be _ruined_. He had no idea why Edric insisted on dragging him along to these places, or even on going there at all.

“Was it about how I got to be this handsome, then?” he said, gingerly scraping something disgusting off his foot onto the cave wall whilst Edric stopped to inspect a crop of deep mushrooms. “Because I'm afraid that's a puzzle only the Maker can solve for you.”

Edric snorted, but Bull barrelled on in his usual inexorable way. “No. It was about what it's like. With a dwarf. I’ve never fucked one. There must be some interesting logistics involved there.”

“I can't say I have any complaints, if that's what you're asking.”

Bull hummed. “So you're satisfied with the small size? I’m just curious.”

“Hey!” Edric protested, sounding extremely put out.

Dorian threw back his head and laughed. “I'm not sure whether to be concerned that you're impugning the Inquisitor’s masculinity or mine, Bull. There's more than one way to skin a cat, you know.” He smirked. “And I have been told that I have a way with words. A clever tongue, if you will.”

Blackwall, who had been walking several yards away at the head of the group and pretending to have gone temporarily deaf, shifted uncomfortably and murmured, “Sweet Andraste preserve us.”

This time, Dorian’s peal of laughter echoed off the cave walls and sent a flock of bats flapping out into the daylight.

-

The Herald’s Rest was noisy and smelled like a demon’s armpit, but the company was good and at least Cabot had dug up some wine so he didn't have to drink that slop that Edric seemed to like so much. Dorian had lost the second bottle to Krem in an arm wrestling match, though, and had been forced to drink some rather dubious ‘liquor’ that Scout Harding had sworn up and down was a traditional dwarven distillation and therefore important for Dorian’s… something. Cultural thingy. Exchange. Blast, he was definitely drunk. The dwarves in question were currently engaged in a vicious game of diamondback along the bar, which Edric appeared to be losing quite badly.

“Someone's going to lose their smallclothes soon,” he announced to the world at large, and wobbled backwards off his seat into… something warm and solid. He tipped his head back and looked up into an expanse of beard. “Blackwall! Still got your smallclothes, I presume.”

Blackwall looked down at him, his lips twitching in amusement. He righted Dorian back onto his stool and settled in the one next to him. “Last time I checked, yes.”

“Shame,” Dorian said absently, watching Harding take another hand. “I've no doubt that would be a sight to behold.”

Blackwall coughed and looked away. He signalled Cabot for a drink.

“You shouldn't drink that stuff, you know,” Dorian said. “It's truly foul. It'll make you go blind.”

“It's an acquired taste.”

“Ah, rather like yourself, in fact.”

“I'm sorry?” Blackwall said.

“That's you. An aka—acqu—a taste. You know. Something that you don't like at first, and then you do.”

“Oh,” said Blackwall, sounding pleased now.

“Not that I've ever thought about, you know. How you taste,” Dorian continued. The world was swaying a little, so he rested his head on Blackwall’s reassuringly-solid shoulder. “Not much, anyway. Although that's another taste that you need to practice. Before you start liking to swal—”

“Right,” Blackwall broke in, loudly. His face was pink, though that could have been from the ale or the fire. “Inquisitor,” he called down the bar, “perhaps you should escort Dorian to his quarters. He's a bit the worse for wear.”

“Oh, sod it!” Edric swore, slamming his hand down. “Harding, you son of a nug-humper.”

“Ha! I think that's my game, Inquisitor,” she said, grinning at him. “Seems you've got other business to attend to anyway.”

Edric stood up, wobbling a little himself, and looked Dorian up and down. Dorian gave him what he hoped was a suave smile, but Edric just laughed and said, “I think you better help me, Blackwall, if you don't mind? He's a bit heavy for me to carry when he's like this.”

“Slander! I'll have you know I'm very trim!” Dorian protested, but he allowed himself to be manhandled from the bar and out into the courtyard.

The cold air sharpened Dorian’s senses considerably, but he continued to lean heavily on Blackwall as they made their way back to the main hall. The man was warm and pleasantly burly and he rather liked being pressed against him, truth be told. When they were about to turn towards Dorian’s chambers, the Inquisitor put up a hand.

“Let's get him to my quarters,” he said, in that tone that always meant good things to come.

Dorian caught his eye, and the flash of knowing heat he found there made him shiver.

“Oh,” said Blackwall, and Dorian knew without question that he was picturing it too. “All right.”

At the top of the stairs, Blackwall said, a little awkwardly, “Right, well then, I'll, er, leave you to it.”

He made to untangle himself from Dorian’s grip, but Dorian turned his head instead and caught Blackwall’s lips in a clumsy kiss. His aim was a little off-centre because of the drink, but Blackwall’s beard was surprisingly soft against Dorian’s skin and he tasted not unpleasantly of beer.

“Maker’s breath,” Blackwall said, pulling away so abruptly that Dorian stumbled. “Dorian—Inquisitor, I'm sorry. I didn't intend—”

Edric smiled, feral and sharp and beautiful in a way that made Dorian’s breath catch. “I think you did intend,” he said. “Are you saying you don't want to kiss Dorian? He’s very handsome, as he's fond of reminding us.”

Dorian smirked at Blackwall, who looked wrong-footed.

“I…” he began, trailing off uncertainly.

“If you want to leave now, then leave,” Edric told him. “But if you'd rather find out what his wicked tongue can do beyond making innuendos and quips, then be my guest.”

There was desire in Blackwall’s gaze this time as he looked Dorian up and down. It was as if permission had loosened the stopper of his arousal and now his blood was simmering with it, just under the surface. Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him in a silent challenge, and that was all it took. Blackwall slid one of his big hands into Dorian’s hair and brought their mouths together in a kiss that was much surer than the last, though gentler than he had anticipated. Dorian ran his tongue across Blackwall’s lips and they parted for him obligingly. His mouth was slick and hot, and Dorian couldn't help but moan as their tongues slid together.

Blackwall’s hand had been travelling slowly down Dorian's back as they kissed, and now it cupped his arse.

Dorian laughed against his mouth, delighted. “Mmm, that's the spirit.” He could feel Edric’s intense gaze upon him as he gently steered Blackwall backwards. “We've imagined this, you know,” he said, guiding Blackwall until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sat down. “The Inquisitor and I, I mean. We've imagined you here with us. You must have noticed all those times we’ve flirted with you.” As he spoke, he slipped his hands underneath Blackwall’s linen tunic and tugged the garment off. Beneath it, Blackwall’s chest was firm and muscular, but his skin was a mess of scars, both old and faded and new and shiny pink. Dorian made an approving noise and ran his fingers along one of them, making Blackwall shiver.

“Does he meet with your high standards, Dorian?” Edric said, voice heavy with heat and arousal.

“Oh, very much so,” Dorian said, “though there's more to see yet.” He found the laces for Blackwall’s breeches and pulled them undone. Blackwall’s cock was hard and straining against his smallclothes. Dorian dropped to his knees and mouthed at the already-damp fabric.

“Sweet Maker,” Blackwall gasped, “Dorian…”

“Come on,” said Dorian, tugging at the breeches impatiently, “let's get these off. I told you, I want to taste you.”

Blackwall groaned and lifted his hips so Dorian could remove the offending garments. His cock sprang free, jutting out proudly from a tangle of dark, coarse hair.

Dorian licked his lips. “My, Blackwall, you are well-proportioned.”

He heard Edric suck in a breath, and turned to see that he had undone his own breeches and was lazily stroking his cock as he watched them with eyes darkened by lust. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Are you going to suck him or not? By the stone, I want to see you take that.”

“ _Fasta vass_ , Edric,” Dorian breathed, dizzied by the sight and sound of him. He looked like sex personified.

Dorian turned back to Blackwall, looking up at him through his eyelashes as he flicked his tongue over the slit of his cock. His skin tasted clean, scented only with the bitter tang of fresh arousal; apparently the man was, in fact, acquainted with soap despite living in a barn. Blackwall jerked slightly and Dorian made a soft noise of encouragement, putting his hands on Blackwall’s thick, muscular thighs to hold him in place. He wrapped his lips around the head and suckled lightly, and Blackwall made a strangled sound, halfway between a moan and a sob.

“That’s it,” Edric said, with some satisfaction, and then to Blackwall, “He’s so beautiful with a cock in his mouth, don’t you think?”

Dorian felt his own cock twitch at the praise, and he redoubled his efforts, licking a languid stripe from base to tip before swallowing down as much as he could in one go. He savoured the sensations of it: the velvet texture of the skin, Blackwall’s heady musk, the heavy weight of a cock on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Blackwall hissed, his hips bucking.

“Put your hands in his hair,” said Edric, with a hint of the Inquisitorial command in his tone. “He likes that.”

Dorian glanced up and met Blackwall’s questioning gaze steadily. Blackwall’s lips were parted and his eyes slightly glazed, but he took Dorian’s confirmation for what it was and grabbed a handful of hair, forcing Dorian’s head further down. Dorian relaxed his body and opened up as much as he could, doing his best not to gag as the cock hit the back of his throat, earning a deep moan from Blackwall. He began to suck in earnest, pressing his tongue to the underside of Blackwall’s cock as he did so. He could hear Edric’s low grunts and the slap of skin on skin as he stroked himself, mingled with Blackwall’s pants and the obscene wet, slick sounds he himself was making. It was almost too much, too overwhelming.

“Come on,” Edric urged. “Come on, Blackwall; fuck him. He can take it.”

Blackwall’s hips bucked and his fingers tightened in Dorian’s hair, holding him in place, and that was all the warning he got before his mouth was filled with spurts of hot release, strong-tasting and bitter. He could hear Edric’s orgasm too, the familiar bitten-off cry he always made.

Blackwall let go of his hair and Dorian slumped down, resting his head on Blackwall’s scarred thigh and panting heavily. Suddenly Edric was there, tenderly cupping his face. His lips were soft against Dorian’s, but the kiss was filthy and full of intent as Edric chased the taste of Blackwall’s come with his tongue.

“Amatus,” Edric murmured, his accent horrendous but endearing all the same. “Up you get.”

Dorian shivered, but allowed Blackwall to wrap his strong arms around him and pull him to his feet. He pressed a brief kiss to Blackwall’s lips, a fleeting acknowledgement and a thanks.

“Onto the bed.” Edric’s dark eyes gleamed wickedly in the candlelight as he turned to Blackwall. “You’re welcome to stay and watch.”


End file.
